My Chemical Romance:  Kids from Yesterday
by straightasthecrowflies
Summary: Lost in time, Gerard and the other members of My Chemical Romance must find there way back to the life they once new. Battling dangerous Exterminators and finding love in unexpected places, they boys journey across the CA desert, 2019 AD.
1. Preface  Kids from Yesterday

The Kids from Yesterday

_Preface_

This story starts with a man's dissension into a dark depression over the parting of his wife and only child. He could not explain to her the reason they must be apart when he looked into his daughter's questioning eyes the day before. The intricacies of her parent's feud being too grown up for her five year old self, all he could do was shake his head in sorrow. Now, he can hardly ascertain the reasons himself, his tired brain unable to sort through the angry words and hateful feelings shrouding it from view. Yet, this he is sure is true: his heart broke free from his chest with the breaking of their embrace and a gaping emptiness is all that remains.

Alcohol and drugs begin to call to their former host and wait in every shadow he passes on the street. The wind from passing cars lashes out at him like hands, drawing him to the jet black pavement. A single word echoes in his mind: _fatality. _

He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket with one freezing hand and glances down at the address scribbled on it then up at the sign on the building before him.

**Lacuna Mental Health**

**Robert Chappell P.H.D.**

**Neuroscience and Behavioral Therapy**

He dragged his feet up the stairs to the plain, gray building and slipped in the front door. A tinny bell hung over the door jingled in response to his arrival into the tiny, gray waiting room, scattered with homely chairs. He strode to the desk where the only inhabitant of the room sat typing data into a dated computer.

"Good morning," she greeted flatly.

The man cleared his throat and finally lifted his eyes to meet the girl's. She wasn't altogether very pretty but she was young and wore her hair in loose braids which complimented her otherwise drab appearance.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Chappell. My name's Gerard Way," he intoned, voice still raw from screaming into his pillow last night. Suddenly conscious of the red, puffy condition of his eyes, he dropped them once again to the floor.

"Sure. Right this way," the girl got up from her chair and grabbed a file off the desk. Disappearing momentarily around the corner, she appeared once again, holding open the door to the hall beyond. The low hum of the fluorescent lights seemed loud in the man's ears as the blanched light closed in on him.

The conversation with the young Dr. Chappell was short, hazy and followed by the signing of many documents entitled "Lacuna Research Form".

After the third sheet he'd skimmed over, reoccurring words and phrases began catching his eye, though he paid them precious little attention. "...molecular manipulation," "...research," "...discoveries."

When the last signature was signed, Gerard slid the pile of papers across the hardwood desk to the man opposite him.

"The final stage of the process requires you to record your verbal consent." He slid a black tape recorder across the desk and handed Gerard another piece of paper. "Read this, please."

_Click._

"I, Gerard Arthur Way, hereby give my consent to Doctor Chappell and all other Lacuna Research Corporation affiliates to erase vital portions of unwanted memories pertaining to… my daughter and ex-wife… I understand the risks involved with the procedure and do not hold the Lacuna Research Corporation responsible for dangers associated with participation in this study."

_Click._


	2. Chapter 1  Kids from Yesterday

A muffled commotion bumped against the fuzzy, iron blanket of sleep that laid across his eardrums, over his eyelids, and across his entire body; denying it entrance to his senses. The night had encased him in a blank repose; insulating him from the outside world.

A yelp and a bang nearby brought him hastily to his senses. He blinked his eyes, reeling from the harsh and instantaneous transition from a suspended consciousness to the panic of wakefulness. The sound of running water entered his awareness. He lurched up into a sitting position, sending a jolt through his numb limbs. A pale, yellow line under the door in front of him was the only light in the room.

His lethargic brain, although slow to catch his racing heart, recognized his brother's panic stricken voice beyond the door.

"Mikey," he huffed, as if the sound of his brother's name confirmed that it was him he heard, and launched off the stiff bed.

"Mikey?" he called through the thin door, wobbling slightly from the sudden movement. "Mikey," he called again and steadied himself on the frame, "is something wrong?"

"Uh-huh..." came Mikey Way's feeble response.

Amidst a moderate amount of concern for his little brother, Gerard was not very surprised at his answer. There was hardly anything _right _in his brother's little world. Gerard has had the fortune of traveling the world with his much beloved brother and doing the thing he loves most in the world: make music. Along with that however, he has had the misfortune of constantly putting out the fires caused by the ill fated luck of his younger sibling. Weather that be an actual fire, finding him when he's lost, or any other number of possible catastrophes, Gerard is always there to save the day. A real hero.

His band mates seem to view him in the same light as his little brother (most of the time). As the band's front man and, essentially, it's backbone, Gerard is the glue that holds the difficult and at times difficult 'family' together.

Every hero has his flaws and Gerard was no exception. He seems to have taken the recent departure of their drummer, Bob Bryar, from the band upon himself. The magazines explain the reason as simply "creative differences" but the true reason is far more complex. It's hardly brought up among the four musicians and often pushed from Gerard's mind.

The power struggle between Gerard and the band's mysterious yet energetic rhythm guitarist Frank made for a rocky beginning. While there relationship is on level ground for the most part, most of the conflict – whether lighthearted or not – seems to be instigated by Frank and his "scrapper" personality.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Mikey," Gerard coached, slicking his black, stringy hair out of his face.

"There's a gross spider in the shower but I don't want to kill it..." Mikey explained.

Gerard sighed, "Why not?"

Michel, the youngest and arguably the most sensitive member of My Chemical Romance was often described as the group's "spiritual adviser". Not because of any religious affiliation but because of his tendency to bring a person back down to earth, so to speak. He had a universal love for everything and everyone. Gerard half expected his reply to reflect the insect's right to life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

"I'm scared it will jump at me... I left my glasses somewhere..." came Mikey's troubled response and a scuffling within.

Gerard turned to the darkened room and was hit immediately with a wave of confusion. He had no recollection of coming to that room or to checking into a hotel at all. The room was small and had only two beds. It smelled of typical, generic cleaners used in cheap resorts. Floor length curtains were drawn over the one window on the far wall, letting in little to no light. He felt along the wall for a light switch. Finding none, he inched toward the bed and flicked on the weathered lamp between the two beds.

"Where the _fuck _are we?" croaked Frank from somewhere near the window. Gerard could just see his messy, black hair over the bed. "And, why am I on the floor?" he added.

"I was wondering the same thing..." said Ray from the other end of the room.

A crash from the bathroom.

"Mikey?" Gerard grabbed the handle and charged in. His brother lay in the middle of the floor, completely exposed, rubbing his head as though he'd just fell.

"What are you doing on the floor?" Gerard asked, reaching out his hand and assess the damage simultaneously. He stooped to help him.

The shower curtain was open, the water running. From the floor, he caught a glimpse of something contrastingly black against the white tile. The spider was easily the length of his arm. Bigger then anything he'd ever seen. There was a strange blue, jagged line across the creatures' abdomen. His blood froze with alarm.

Gerard scooped his brothers clothes off the closed toilet and put his arm under Mikeys; wide eyes still locked on the eight-legged creature.

"That is one _scary-ass_ spider..." he mumbled as he began pulling his brother out of the bathroom. He slammed the door and stuffed a pillow under the door, sealing the frightening arachnid inside.

Frank was lighting up a cigarette on the side of one of the twin beds. The scrolling tattoos running up his arms and hands lit up with the orange flame of the lighter. His black hair came to a point in front of his attractive face as he took the white stick between his fingers, brought it to his lips, and drew in a long breath.

Gerard handed handed his brother his clothes then sat beside the smoking guitarist and motioned for a butt. Gerard too was an attractive man, his pale white complexion complimented his refined facial features beautifully. His hazel eyes glowed vacantly with the confusion of their situation.

Mikey wriggled his tall, skinny self back into his tight gray jeans and favorite faded Anthrax tee shirt. There was definite, notable similarity between the Way brothers appearance.

Just then, Ray stood from his chair and crossed the room to the window, smoothing his frizzy afro as he went. He parted the heavy cloth and peered out into the brightening morning, a silver line over his eye. "Holy shit…" he mumbled, slowly backing away from the curtain.

Gerard's eyes narrowed and he stood from the bed and pulled the string attached to a pulley that opened the blinds with a _whoosh_.

There was a collective gasp shared by the group as they stared in horror at the sight of hundreds of black spiders crawling up the window pane.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Ray exclaimed.

They hurried down the stairs, jumping two at a time until they came to the shabby lobby of the motel. The carpet was bald from decades of use and the chairs threadbare. A convenience stand and a vending machine occupied the far wall opposite the revolving front door. They made a b-line for the door when they were stopped by a gruff voice.

"Hey."

Gerard turned.

A man sat at the front desk, peering into a flat screen. The man was large and rugged and wore a strange piece of electronic equipment over his left eye.

"I was told to give you boys this," he held out a scrap of folded paper, not turning his eyes from the screen.

Gerard hesitantly approached the desk and took the paper from the man and slowly backed away. It was addressed to each of them and contained a strange card.

_Go to Alta Plaza: Commercial Complex, suite 1289 at the Viator Air and Space station. There I can answer some of your questions._

It was signed James Chappell. The name sounded extremely familiar to Gerard but he couldn't understand why. He closed his eyes and narrowed his brow in deep concentration, searching his mind for any recognition of that name.

"What should we do?" Ray whispered.

Gerard opened his eyes and with a sigh replied "Find Alta Plaza, I suppose…"

"The bus for Alta leaves in five minutes…" came the gruff voice of the man at the desk. He slowly turned his head from the screen, revealing an ugly scar across his face. "…but, I wouldn't suggest leaving for Alta without a laser. Them Crawlers been breeding like crazy 'round these parts lately."

"Laser?"

"Mmm. I sell 'em for only 300 cred. Cheepest in Union City," the man motioned to the vending machine on the wall. It was faded white with harsh, black text slashed across the front displaying the name of the company: _Glimmer._

Keeping one eye on the man, Gerard stepped in front of the machine. A slot and a key pad appeared on the right side. A metallic voice greeted them, "Good morning, Ranger. Slide your chip to get started."

He looked down at the card in his hand that had been contained in the note. It was almost paper thin but had a small digital readout on the front under which scrolled "Credits". He slid the card in the machine like he was instructed and white front of the machine became transparent, revealing a case full of brightly colored weapons.

"Excuse me," Gerard turned to the man. "We don't have any permits to carry weapons…"

The man began to laugh hard, displaying a mouthful of ugly teeth. "Permits? What do you think this is, 2010?" He continued to laugh, thoroughly amused by Gerard's question. He looked down at the card. The date read 2019. Something in Gerard's stomach dropped and all he could do was stare at the device in his hand.

Frank craned his neck over Gerard's shoulder, "2019? What is this... Some kind of joke?", he whispered skeptically.

"Your session with Glimmer Convenience Station is about to expire. Press OK to continue shopping." The tinny voice of the vending machine brought Gerard back to his senses. The machine began counting down from ten. He pressed the OK button on the key pad and peered into the case. There were rows and rows of weapons ranging from knives to grenades to guns. His eyes scanned the row that said "lasers". Each colored firearm obviously had a different quality but he couldn't tell the difference – they all looked like water guns to him. He chose four for each member of the band and selected "Finish and Pay".

"Your total is twelve hundred credits. Have a dangerous day, Ranger." The machine returned to normal and the case disappeared behind the white and black front. Four brightly colored weapons dropped from the shoot. Gerard passed the weapons around to the group and stepped to the front window. Peering cautiously outside for any "Crawlers" and seeing none, he glanced at the old man.

"Aahh, those bugs'll be all 'near gone now. But t'night – T'night they'll be back..."

The man at the desk was still chuckling to himself as the group headed for the door.

"Have a dangerous day, fellas'," he called.

Outside, the terrain was dusty and dry. Gerard looked in every direction and saw nothing but red desert rock riddled with sage bushes. He holstered his gun in the front of his jeans and started walking for the weathered sign by the road that read "Bus stop". The silver horizon sparked with a golden glow of sunlight.

"Gerard, what the fuck are we doing?" Frank sounded panicked. "None of this makes sense…"

"Yeah… I don't remember anything before this morning…" Mikey said quietly.

"What are we gonna' do?" Frank asked again.

"Survive."


	3. Chapter 2  Kids from Yesterday

Chapter 2

"The weather in Union promises to be fair all throughout the day with temperatures in the eighties, but don't let that fool you. Tonight, expect heavy acid rains and violent winds…" The forecast droned over a speaker in the empty, silver plated bus. The four men bounced in the faded blue seats as they road along the rutted desert highway. The scene outside the grimy windows was a dismal one. Old, rusty, rebuilt cars where their only companions on the long stretch of road, each one painted with tribal symbols on them. Rugged looking passengers occupied the rolling scrap metal, usually bearing long barreled shotguns and decorated with bazaar piercings and tattoos.

"…a pile up on route thirteen is causing a bit of trouble for commuters this morning…" the news report went on. "If you're on your way into Viator, we strongly suggest finding an alternate route."

Just then, a sign reading _Route 13 _blurred passed them and Gerard was suddenly on edge. He got up and staggered to the front of the bus.

"Excuse me but I think this isn't the best way to go…" he said to the bus driver.

The driver whirled around, gun in hand, and pointed it directly at Gerard's throat.

"Get in your fucking seat, asshole, before I relieve your body of your head," he growled, the lit cigar stub in the corner of his mouth moving up and down with his words.

Gerard raised his hands and slowly returned to his seat, heart thumping in his chest.

"What was _that _all about?" Frank whispered, seating himself next to Gerard.

"Beats the hell outta' me," Gerard shrugged his shoulders.

A few minutes pass and there was not even a hint of a traffic. In fact, Gerard thought, they haven't passed a single vehicle since they got on route thirteen. Another sign passed.

_Viator Air and Space Station: 20 Miles_

_Zone 7: 112 Miles _

In the distance, a tall, gray building was now in sight. It stood out from the flat landscape like a giant, dark pillar of against the ancient desert backdrop. The bus rolled to a stop at a four-way intersection. A _caution _light flashed on the digital readout above the cabin next to a skull and crossbones symbol. The driver half turned in his seat.

"You boys might want to buckle your seatbelts," he grunted sternly as he reached behind his seat for a machinegun clip. "It's gonna' be a bumpy ride."

Gerard heard his brother gulp nervously and fumble for his buckle.

Just then, the bus driver pulled a switch on the dash and the entire front of the vehicle was replaced with metal armor. Giant automatic guns lifted out of the hood as the entire bus became a rolling tank. The engine revved and spat clouds of black from the pipes in the rear. When the light turned green and with a mighty whoop from the driver, the metallic monster lurched forward, nearly sending Frank to the floor.

"Yeeehaw!" screamed the man.

The bus barreled forward, straight towards a stretch of road with two hills on either side. From the window, Gerard saw a crouched black figure behind the dune and simultaneously reached for his gun.

"I see ya', you fucking little beetle," the driver sneered over the roar of the engine. He pulled his goggles over his eyes and leaned half of his body out the door, one hand on the wheel, and opened fire on the dune with his machine gun.

"Hah!" he cried with a sense of satisfaction as he sat back down in his seat. "That's how it's done."

Gerard looked back to see the back clad man on his knees, blood spraying from his chest as he fell face first into the sand. His gut lurched and he felt as if he might throw up.

"You pussies might want to keep your heads down," the man said over his shoulder. "We're not out of this yet."

Out of what? Gerard wanted to scream but he ducked his head below the window instead. He could hear Mikey's asthma causing him to wheeze from one seat back. He got down off the bench and crawled to him, putting an arm around his brother.

"Breathe, Mikey. It's gonna' be okay…" Gerard comforted.

The noise of bullets riddling the metal side of the bus was deafening. Mikey buried his head in his brother's arm.

Just then, I giant hole was blown into the back of the bus with a massive explosion. The driver whirled around, a look of fury on his bearded face. "Oh, no you don't!" He switched the bus auto and got up from his seat. Unlocking a compartment in the floor, he pulled out a nasty looking grenade launcher with a scope. The thing was covered with huge, metal spikes and bore the word _Kablooey _along the side; obviously being it's name. The driver lifted the thing to his shoulder and started his way down the long row of seats to the back. He tossed his machine gun to Gerard as he passed and commanded, "Cover me."

Gerard held the incredible weight of the killing device in his hands and stared blankly at the man, mouth ajar.

"Common, meathead! We got Ghosts to kill!" The man screamed.

Gerard flinched at the man's words but still couldn't find the strength to stand.

"Don't worry, kid. The old Doc never let any of his passengers die. I don't call this old bucket of bolts the Deathdefyer for nothin'!" he said, a thumb to his puffed chest. "Common' let's smoke these bastards!" He yanked Gerard to his feet and dragged him to the back half of the bus that hadn't blown off in the blast. A troupe of black clad characters pursued them on motorcycles from behind, each one with a weapon mounted on the front. "You watch the dunes!" Doc barked.

Gerard knelt by the wall behind the last seat and clumsily perched the stalk of the gun on his knee and pulled the trigger. He was immediately thrown back against the wall with the force from the gun. His chest heaved with fear he but righted himself for a second try.

Doc braced himself against two seats and fired Kablooey. Smoke filled the bus and everyone's ears rang from the boom.

A rider appeared on the dune opposite Gerard, turret aimed at the bus. His breath caught in his throat and his arms felt electrified with a surge of adrenaline. He lifted the gun to his shoulder and looked through the scope. A bump in the road caused the scope to hit him in the eye. He winced and tried again. The rider on the ridge fired at the side of the bus causing them to ride up on two wheels and land with a _thud. _Gerard put the rider in his sights again, and with an inner rage, pulled the trigger, spraying the rocks with bullets. "Yaaaahh," he cried over the continuous fire.

Suddenly, the firing of bullets was replaced with a _clicking_ and Gerard realized he was out of ammunition. His eyes flew to his target to see that he'd actually hit the rider's vehicle and immobilized him. His heart jumped with surprise.

"Nice hit, kiddo," Doc said out of the corner of his mouth not holding the cigar stub. He braced himself for another shot and fired the launcher at his opponents, once again filling the cabin with smoke. "Yeah!" he called when he hit his target. "Here!" he tossed a small, green grenade to Gerard.

Not fully understanding the function of a grenade at that time, he simply hucked the thing out the back of the bus at the herd of motorcyclists where it did nothing but lodge itself in the course sand.

"What the fuck are you – ? No! Pull the ring, you numbskull!" the bus driver wailed then tossed Gerard another one and readied himself for another shot from Kablooey.

This time, Gerard looked at the tiny bomb in his hand and was stricken with a sudden panic. What if he didn't throw it in time after he pulled the pin? What if it blew up in his face?

"Wait for my -" Doc began but Gerard had already pulled the pin and hurled the grenade out the gaping back end of the bus. The explosion sent several of their pursuers flying in all directions.

"Heh," Doc grinned down at Gerard.

A bullet nailed the man with a sickening _sluck. _Blood sprayed his face and his cigar was knocked from his mouth. Kablooey _clunked _to the floor. Gerard could hardly believe his eyes. He gasped with horror, thinking the man was dead. Doc groaned and rolled onto his knees, reaching down for his cigar. "Bastards…" he growled. He held his shoulder as blood spilled over his hand.

"Are you okay?" Gerard asked.

"Yeah, kid. Let's just end this thing." The man stood, painfully grasping a bench for support. "I've had enough of these bitches." He crouched beside Gerard. "Listen good, pussface. Get your boys and climb onto the roof. When we pass under Hangman, let 'em have Big Momma's Boobjuice. " Gerard shook his head with compliance, although he had no idea what any of that meant. "Go!" Doc yelled and Gerard sprung up from behind the seat and wobbled to where his band sat. Just then, a thin ladder shot down from the ceiling and a round hatch appeared. Gerard, Frank and Ray climbed the ladder out onto the roof. Bullets _winged_ by their heads as they clung to the metal supports of the roof. Toward the front, a large dome shaped protrusion stood out on the white roof, the words _Big Momma _scrawled across it. At the top of the dome sat the black barrel of a gun giving the weapon the overall appearance of a giant, metallic breast.

"Okay," Gerard said to himself, things starting to become a little clearer. He motioned to the others and began crawling to the gun, keeping his body as low as possible. Up ahead, a rock formation dangled precariously over a chasm, marking what seemed like the end of the ravine they've been traveling in. Thinking that it looked a bit like a hanging man, Gerard honed in on his target. "Help me," he called to Ray who helped him turn the apparatus towards the back of the bus. It was obviously quite old and rusted and took all three of them to turn the thing. The formation was almost upon them as Gerard latched onto the handles of the turret and readied his fingers on each trigger. "Get behind me!" he called.

The Hang Man _whooshed _overhead and Gerard squeezed the triggers with all his might. The bus shook with the powerful force of the gun. The mortor met the stone with a terrible _crack_ and rocks flew in every direction as death showered down on the brigade of motorcyclists that followed.

"Yeah!" Gerard cried with triumph, adrenaline filling his chest with joy at their victory.

"Fuck yeah! Eat that!" Frank chimed.

The three men scurried to the hatch and slid down the ladder.

"Did we get 'em?" Mikey asked timidly from behind a torn leather seat.

"Yeah, we sure did, kiddo" Doc answered from the front seat of the bus. He was at the wheel again, seemingly uninhibited by his injury. "And we're almost to Viator, too."


	4. Chapter 3 Kids from Yesterday

**Chapter 3**

_Welcome to Viator Air and Space_

_Have a great stay._

They passed the sign at about fifty miles per hour just as the rutted dirt road became a smooth pavement. Gerard followed the sign with his eyes through the hole in the back of the bus. _TURN BACK _was scrawled across the back of the sign in red spray paint. He felt a faint quiver of trepidation in the pit of his stomach which might have surfaced had he not still been riding on the high of his life. He'd never imagined what it was like to take another man's life and never dreamed he'd ever be faced with that decision. It was perhaps much easier than he expected since the lives of his closest friends hung in the balance. Perhaps, also because those he killed were faceless and nameless and obviously driven by ill intent that Gerard felt certain what he did was right. Although, in his bones he knew that after the adrenaline drained from his nerves, he would question what was done today. For now, it was worth it just to see his bother safely seated next to him in that bouncy bus. He put his arm around him and smiled. Mikey smiled back.

Ray edged closer to the man behind the steering wheel, being careful not to get too close, no doubt remembering what happened the first time Gerard approached the man. "Who were those guys?"

"Exterminators," he stated simply, glancing over his left shoulder.

Ray looked at Gerard and shrugged his shoulders. A question had been forming in the back of his mind. He moved to the seat behind the driver.

"Why did the news report say that it was backed up on route thirteen? I mean, we didn't even pass another car… well, besides the motorcycles."

"Well, the report is right, isn't it? We caused quite the back up," the man chuckled huskily.

"But…" Gerard stopped himself when he realized the driver began clutching his shoulder in pain.

Their destination loomed over them as they approached the front gates. A central spire shot up from the middle of the cluster of stalactite-like buildings that was the Station, seeming to scrape the Heavens. It was easily the tallest structure Gerard had ever seen in his life. The onyx exterior glinted with the morning sun and gave the place an overall mystical appearance.

The bus rolled through the gates slowly and pulled up beside a checking station. A harsh hissing rose from the beaten vehicle.

"If you guys don't have any identification, I highly suggest you make yourselves scarce until we're passed these pigs," the bus driver said nonchalantly, not turning his head. "There's a compartment under the third row seats."

The four men in the back ducked their heads below the seats, a look of panic in their faces. Gerard's eyes searched the floor. He saw a barely visible line outlining a door on the floor below the seats. A tiny silver latch caught his eye where it lay flush with the floor. Crawling over, he lifted the latch with his finger and the top opened up. He beckoned Mikey over first and helped him into the hole. His shoulders barely fit through. Next, Frank slid in, his compact frame posing little problem for the hole. Next was Ray. Gerard glanced nervously over at the driver who greeted someone beyond the window. Once Ray's curly, brown afro was through the hole, he gulped and forced himself in, bringing the top down as he went. Inside was pitch black. The sound of the other's heavy breathing seemed to close the walls in on Gerard and his claustrophobia reared up in full. He felt his throat begin to close and his chest to pinch as he envisioned them sitting in a grave. His nerves prickled with tension. A muffled voice spoke above them. He covered his mouth with his shirt to dampen his hyperventilation. A hand grabbed his.

"…ran into a little trouble with some raiders out on route thirteen. I'm headed in for some repairs and food…" came the voice of their driver.

"Are there any passengers on board?" a monotone voice asked.

"I picked up a few in Union…"

Gerard's heart stopped.

"…but they didn't make it."

Gerard let out a silent breath and loosened his grip on the hand in his.

"As you can see, I barely made it myself," Doc reasoned.

There was a silence that lasted what felt like forever. Then came another monotone voice.

"Let me see some identification."

"Sure thing," the driver obliged.

A moment later, the bus lurched forward and they were driving once more. Gerard felt the others relax slightly in the tiny space. They made it.

Once the bus screeched to a halt, Doc's boots could be heard _clomping_ there way to the compartment. He pulled the latch and the oxygen starved hiding place was filled with a rush of fresh air.

"Welcome to Viator Station, boys."


	5. Chapter 4  Kids from Yesterday

Chapter 4

"Thanks for saving us back there," Gerard looked the man in the face. "We really owe you one."

"No thanks needed," the man said shortly, looking down and holding up a hand. His cigar was merely a stump now but his dirty cheeks pulled into a smirk. "Just doin' my job."

"I never knew being a bus driver could be so harrowing," Gerard remarked.

"Heh," the man placed his hand on Gerard's shoulder and said, "Listen, boys. It's a nasty mess out there and every man's gotta' be his own hero. The only advice I can give you is this: keep you boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you've got to." With that, the man pulled his goggles back over his eyes and patted them out the door. What Doc said would stay with Gerard for the rest of his life.

"Take this," he tossed something to Gerard who caught it midair. It was a small patch bearing a strange emblem of a fist and a star. "Wear this next to your heart and remember that the _Embers _of opposition burn on."

The driver of the bus resumed his place at the helm, saluted the men, and pulled a lever which closed the doors. With that, he was gone.

Gerard felt a twinge of sadness mix with a bitter helplessness when the Death Defyer pulled away and left them standing there in the shadow of the monstrous mega structure. He felt as if he was watching his sense of direction slowly drive away.

"Hello?"

A strange voice startled them from behind. Gerard whirled around and fumbled for his gun.

"Whoa there, Rangers, I ain't gonna' hurt ya'."

Before them stood a rather sexually ambiguous looking character whose face was hidden behind a shielded helmet. Sizing up his silver, spandex covered body, Gerard came to the conclusion that the person before them was clearly male. However, his voice carried a female quality that confused the hell out of him.

"The Doc asked me to get y'all inside…here," he lowered one of his raised hands cautiously so as not to spook the singer. He began unzipping his suit, just under his chin.

Gerard tensed, gripping his laser gun tightly with both hands. _Safety: ON _glowed red across the tiny digital screen just above his thumb. He mentally kicked himself for not spending any time familiarizing himself with the weapon before now and held his arm s so taught that his right elbow began to hyperflex slightly. The strange man unzipped his jumpsuit about six inches to reveal a small tattoo on his breast that was an identical copy of the fist and star on the patch Gerard had just received. Gerard relaxed a bit.

"Now, common' guys, let's go before they see us," the spandex-clad angled his head up as though he glanced towards the sky. He turned abruptly and beckoned them to follow him. Gerard dropped his gun to his side and exchanged a concerned look with his band members. Unable to think of any reason _not _to follow the strange man, he jumped into a jog behind him.

"Just a minute," Gerard protested after he was close enough for the man to hear. "Where are you taking us?"

"To Alta Plaza," he answered matter-of-factly without turning his head. They were running down a dirty alley beside the giant building.

"But…h-how did you -" Gerard stuttered, carefully watching his feet so he wouldn't lose his footing.

"Hey," the man quietly interrupted, ducking around a corner. "You guys wouldn't happen to have any _product_ you'd be willing to trade, would you?" he asked in a hushed voice that sounded hollow coming from within his helmet. He itched his neck as he asked, giving away his tell – he was uncomfortable. Gerard could barely see the man in the shadow but shook his head, doubtful the man could see him through his dark visor. The man simply sighed in response and checked around the corner to see if anyone was following them. "Well, lemme' know if you fella's happen upon any Angel Dust in your travels… " he let out a single chuckle, then turned the corner.

It was dark and wet in the alley and a thick steam seemed to pour out of every crevasse; whether it be hissing out of some pipe or blowing out of an unseen vent, the place was filled with it. Along with steam, the alley was filled with an awful black slime that settled in puddles on the ground and made made every surface as slick as ice.

After another few minutes of running, they finally made it to a red, rusted door. The man they'd been following slid up his sleeve to reveal what looked like a thin bar code on his wrist and held it up to a laser scanner. A loud _beep _sounded and a blue light flashed above the door as several locking mechanisms within the door rattled open. Inside was another door.

"Identification number," an automated voice crackled as they approached the inner door. "Six, six, zero, three, eight, nine," the speaker recited as their masked companion pressed the corresponding numbers into an illuminated key pad. "Access granted. Welcome, Three Eight Nine." The door _whooshed _open.

"We're in, boys," sighed the man. "Now, I don't know where you guys 'come from but, if you all go walkin' round Alta Plaza lookin' like that, you're gonna' get some unwanted attention directed your way...if you get what I mean," he warned as they entered the pitch blackness of the space within. It took Gerard several minutes for his eyes to adjust to the void they'd just entered but once they did, he realized they were in a large wear house. Strange masked workers buzzed about here and there, pushing huge pallets and crates. The front man suddenly felt mildly self conscious, standing there in the garb of _his _time. Confusion and obstinate refusal to accept the current state of affairs he's found himself in nipping at the corners of his mind, Gerard pushes it all aside and binds himself to the duty of protecting his band – no matter what. The answers behind the probability of their time travel will have to wait.

The man sighed again and put one hand on his hip. "I 'spose I'd only be doing half my job if I let you off here..." he admitted laboriously, seeming burdened by the four men before him.

"If you could get us into the Commercial District, we'd really appreciate it," Gerard said.

After a short silence, Frank added, "We're kinda' shooting in the dark here, if you haven't noticed..."

The man's helmet gave nothing away. He stood for a moment more, weighing the odds, then answered with a sigh. "Well, follow me."

Frank and Gerard shared a sideways glance, then took off again after the man.

As they wound their way through mile high pillars of bulk merchandise, the spandex-clad man began to babble loudly, much to the surprise of the men that followed him. It wasn't long before they realized, however, that he was merely adapting to a different type of cover. Whereas before, silence was necessary to remain undetected, now loud, frivolous speech was required in order to carry out a normal appearance. He spoke excitedly about fashion and news, never waiting for a response to his questions but instead, moving quickly onto different topics, like the weather. He lead them from pillar to pillar in an overall relaxed manner, stopping only occasionally to tilt his head back in search of surveillance cameras.

"The storms in Vegas have been brutal lately. I've heard the toxicity level of the air has risen considerably as a result of..." as he spoke, the man known as Three Eight Nine glanced casually over his shoulder. It was just then that an enormous spider dropped down from the ceiling, dangling from a single white thread. The creatures abdomen was the length of a man's foot and it's legs about four feet long. Gerard whipped out his gun.

"Don't... move..." he whispered, eyes growing large. He aimed the gun just over the man's shoulder.

"What the hell do you think y– " the man protested as he began turning towards Gerard but it was too late. The creature had latched onto the man with it's horrible, barbed legs and began to pull his wriggling body up the thread. Gerard pulled the trigger but the gun clicked. He remembered the safety was on and began pushing every button he could find on the handle of the gun. A tiny button behind the trigger changed the readout from _ON _to _OFF. _Only seconds had passed but the spider and it's howling pray were already swinging stories high in the air.

"Ahh! Get me down! Help me, HELP ME!" the man screamed, kicking his legs violently.

Gerard ran back a few steps and aimed his long-nosed laser gun skyward. Swearing under his breath, he cursed everything on God's green earth. The foreboding likelihood of him tagging Three Eight Nine with a fiery shot instead of the beast caused Gerard's head to spin. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to match the aim of his weapon with the constant left-right swing of his target.

As though the man's violent struggling had become too much for the arachnid to handle, it reared up in what could only be the most viscous attack position imaginable and bore it's ugly fangs. Two long teeth emerged from beneath the dark, hairy creature; glistening with venom.

A single straight, blue bolt erupted from Gerard's candy machine gun. Meeting the beast's bulbous abdomen with deadly accuracy, an explosion of whitish guts flew every which way. Three Eight Nine fell screaming to the top of one of the monstrous pillars of bulk merchandise.

Gerard could hardly believe it. He let out a long breath, unaware that he'd been keeping it in, and yielded to the enormous smile spreading across his face. Equally relieved as he was surprised, he ran to where his band stood at the base of the pillar.

"Wow, Gee. You hit it!" Ray exclaimed, reflecting Gerard's thoughts. He was covered with a reeking slim that caused Gerard to slow his approach considerably.

"Ew," he cringed at the sight of a gelatinous bit of spider guts clinging to the guitarists bouncing fro.

"I knew he would," Frank boasted, coming out from behind a large crate.

"Where's Mikey?" Gerard asked, suddenly alarmed. "Mikey!"

"He was here a minute ago..." Ray said, glancing around.

The sound of vomit hitting the concrete floor perked Gerard's ears. Then the sound of his brother retching behind the pillar. The three men rushed to his side.

"Mikey! Are you alright?" Gerard asked, voice filled with concern.

His brother knelt against the yellow plastic covering the huge pillar, one hand steadying himself. He too was coated in a nasty slime.

"Yuck..." he rasped feebly, lifting his pale face to his brother.

Gerard smiled and patted his shoulder with sympathy.


End file.
